


Good Cop, Bad Cop

by xphil98197



Category: 00Q - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphil98197/pseuds/xphil98197
Summary: James Bond isn't quite sure why his scar hurts, or what the new Quartermaster is, or if these two things are related.





	Good Cop, Bad Cop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evisionarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evisionarts/gifts).



<http://www.maryogle.com/00q/ooq-mark.jpg>

 

Marrakech was beautiful this time of year, if a bit stuffy and stagnant during the heat of the afternoon. James sipped the iced sweet mint tea and and enjoyed the shade, the fan spinning lazily above him on the porch as he relaxed in the hammock. Morocco was one of his favorite places to retreat when he was avoiding a certain tongue lashing back at MI6.

 

The click of a gun being cocked brought him out of his thoughts with a slow widening of eyes, until he recognized his fellow agent.

 

“You should learn not to let me sneak up on you like that… one would think you’ve lost your will to live,” Alec chuckled as he finished off James’ tea.

 

“Come on now, who else would it be?” James didn’t even bother to open an eye. “We have a private villa, Alec. There’s no one else here, and no one knows that we’re here. According to our locator chips, we’re still in Turkey.”

 

“Q is going to be awfully mad that you lost those shoes,” Alec gave a mournful sigh. “We were doing so well… I’d almost convinced him to let me try out the new airboat.”

 

“We brought back two guns, Alec,” James laughed and reached out to spin the other hammock as Alec tried to settle in. “He isn’t about to give us the keys to Buckingham.”

 

“You’re a spoilsport, Boothroyd always did like me better,” Alec toed off his sandals. “Besides, now we’ll never know.”

 

“Never know what?” James refilled the cup.

 

“If the airboat really turned into a car and drove on land too,” Alec winked. “Or if it combusts the second that you turn the ignition.” 

 

“Equal chances… it could be another Boothroyd special,” James added an equal amount of vodka to the tea and downed it in one swallow. “Do you want to walk through the marketplace and find dinner once the sun goes down?”

 

“You’re only asking because it's your turn to cook, but yes,” Alec laughed. “More of those kabobs and cherry saffron rice.”

 

“Branch out, live a little,” James rolled his eyes. “You get the same thing every time.”

“I can’t get it in England,” Alec argued, forgoing the tea in favor of drinking the vodka straight from the bottle. “There are a lot of things I can’t get in England when prying eyes are watching, mind you.”

 

“I know, but you’d be bored if every day was a holiday,” James reminded.

 

“Still… it would be nice not to have to lie about everything in my life,” Alec shrugged and handed over the bottle, rubbing at a prominent bite mark on his collar bone.

 

“Part of the perks, and the drawbacks,” James stared at the mark that matched his own teeth.

 

***

 

That had been the last time he’d seen Alec before that trip to Russia, and it still haunted his dreams. The two trips often meshed, providing him with a litany of falling bodies and explosions, both sexual and flammable.

 

James rubbed at the scarring on his knuckles and sighed, before checking his watch again. So many people gone, no longer anything more than a memory.

 

“It always makes me a bit melancholy,” the rustle of an anorak accompanied the poshness of the public school accent.

 

James swore the man looked familiar, but even after identifying himself as the new Quartermaster, that didn’t settle his mind. The profile fit a memory that danced just past his reach.

 

***

 

“What is it worth to you?” The curly haired head turned to him, but beneath the water James didn’t hear, so much as see, the words.

 

“My soul, if I had one,” James found himself whispering as he opened his eyes.

 

His collar bone ached where he’d dug out the bullet.

 

But he didn’t. His soul had gone, with Alec. That was what made him so valuable as an agent, so reckless. So easy to return to Six after Vesper… “The job is done, the bitch is dead”. It was easy to have no soul when there was no one to care about, nothing worth sacrificing for. But now… there was Q.

 

***

 

“What is it… exactly, that you’re trying to remember?” Q studied him from the other pillow, peering at James through squinted eyes that couldn't focus without the glasses that had been discarded on the floor along with his clothes in their hurry the previous night.

 

“Nothing… it was a long time ago,” James got out of bed without a backward glance, too selfish of his memories of Alec to tell his Quartermaster about them. James dreamed constantly about Alec, but another body in his bed usually allowed him a night’s respite. Not tonight, apparently.

 

“You know I’m more than I seem,” Q padded into the kitchen on bare feet, still naked. The apartment was cold in the middle of winter night air, and there was a dusting of gooseflesh across Q’s chest.

 

“I know that this is something that I don’t want to talk about,” James said firmly, picking up the empty scotch bottle and hurling it at the bin after examining it in the light of the street lamp coming in the window. He opted for coffee instead, filling the grinder fuller than he should have, a few beans skittering across the floor.

 

“Do you want me to tell you to be careful what you wish for, before you say it aloud, so you can blame yourself?” Q offered, his eyes glinting a strange shade of blood red. James swallowed and turned away, remembering a hint of words as he sunk beneath the surface in Turkey. “There are things that you don’t understand, and things you already know that you only need to remember.

 

“What are you, then?” James bit out, turning on him. He gripped Q by the shoulders. “You feed the cats in the alley behind your flat. I’ve followed you home. You help old ladies across the street.”

 

“There is some good left in the world, and it deserves to be rewarded,” Q shrugged, unfazed. “You work out explanations in your head because your brain can’t think of a rational explanation for what your eyes can see when you really look at me.” There was a snap of air, anda brush against James’ cheek. “Come back to bed, and I’ll make you forget, at least for tonight.”

 

***

 

“There, you should have a clear path in,” Q typed a few lines of code, and the windows of the building that James was watching exploded out with a wave of sound that made his ears ache.

 

“Bloody hell, what the buggering fuck was that?” James put down the sniper rifle he was holding and ducked out of sight into his perch in an empty flat across the street.

 

“Just a bit of fun with the gas lines,” Q’s voice was prim across the comms. “Do make sure that woman coming around from behind the building doesn’t escape, she was the one behind the threats.” There was the distinct snick of a bullet leaving the silenced rifle, and another being put in its place. 

 

“And 007  that little girl at the corner, the one begging for coins… make sure she gets to a safe place?”

 

“The one in the blue robes?” James peered through his binoculars.

 

“Yes, she’s the daughter of the woman you just shot, do keep up,” Q sighed. “You’ll want to make sure that she isn’t at the mercy of the woman’s comrades. It's a very dangerous place for a female to be alone, let alone a child.”

 

“Why did you have me shoot her mother then?” James sighed as he stowed the rifle and descended the stairs, already heading for the child. 

 

“There’s no reason for a child to become a victim of war. I’ll have papers in place and someone to meet you at the airport to take her off your hands,” there was the sound of cracking knuckles on Q’s end as James muttered enough Urdu for the child to follow him.

 

“You owe me an explanation for this,” James rubbed at the scar on his collarbone as he slipped down an alleyway with the child in his arms.

 

“I owe you an explanation for more than this, but all in good time.”


End file.
